


Veterans of the Future War

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: Prowl gets a surprise visit from Deathsaurus.  That would be bad enough.  Except Deathsaurus has seen the future war before Prowl has.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 59





	Veterans of the Future War

**Author's Note:**

> I thought a while before posting this, considering that it's "a self indulgent fic where your fave character is the awesomest and the smartest."
> 
> But I had some requests from people who wanted to see Deathsaurus and Prowl, and I had this sitting on my hard drive...
> 
> ...and really what's the point of fanfic if not to write something self indulgent that makes you happy?
> 
> So, everyone knows what this is going into it. It's a self indulgent fic where I wanted to write about Deathsaurus being awesome.
> 
> *

_Veterans of the Future War_

__

Circa the beginning of Lost Light #25 

Prowl activated the hologram projector that Hound had built for him the instant he turned the corner into the deserted alleyway. His “alter ego” flickered to life, overlaying his frame more closely than paint. Suddenly, he was no longer the Chief of Autobot Intelligence. Now he was “Panther,” a not-at-all-interesting mid-level bureaucrat in the New Iacon Municipal Government, heading home from work. 

_Prowl_ had a condo in a high-security gated complex. _Panther_ lived in an average, middle grade apartment that suited his average, middle grade life. 

It was a novel experience for Prowl. A peacetime treat. Prowl had the freedom to relax, knowing that nobody was watching him. His security was his anonymity; his alter ego was deliberately designed to be utterly uninteresting to anyone. 

He hated to admit how much he’d come to enjoy the sensation of escaping into Panther’s mundane life. 

“Panther” swiped his keycard and entered the building lobby, where the elevator took him to the thirteenth floor. Prowl could feel the tension bleed from his frame as he walked down the corridor. 

Until he got to his front door. 

The minute scratches on the doorframe and around the card reader had not been there this morning. 

Prowl’s mind whirred into overdrive. This was the work of someone who preferred finesse to brute force, but someone who didn’t have the technical skills to hack the door. He’d had to pick it open instead. 

Prowl did not believe for a moment that “Panther” was the random victim of a burglar. 

He drew his handgun from subspace and carefully opened the door. His apartment was silent, and as far as he could see, none of his belongings appeared to have been disturbed. But there was a light shining in his recharge chamber that he knew he had not left on. 

Prowl’s processor could parse eight hundred different outcomes simultaneously. An amber warning light flashed in the corner of his vision. His processor had identified well over eight hundred mechanisms who had plausible motives to do him harm. 

Sighing, Prowl instructed his processor to select the eight hundred most likely perpetrators. 

“Welcome home,” an unfamiliar voice said. 

Burglars, as a rule, did not seek out confrontation. Yet this behaviour was not right for a hit man, either. A killer would simply get on with it. Unless… 

Prowl walked towards the bedroom and hoped that this was not one of those tiresome cases of an assassin who wanted to _chat_ first. 

As he approached the bedroom doorway, he was able to see more of the room beyond. His desk chair was empty, but there was a wet towel on his floor. 

The intruder was lying on his recharge slab. 

Not only was he _not_ among the eight hundred most likely candidates to break into Prowl’s secret home, he was also someone Prowl had been certain he’d never see again. 

Deathsaurus of Grindcore – which was probably not his original name – lifted his draconian head from his forelegs and opened his beak in what Prowl could only guess was either a threat or a smile. 

“Hello, Prowl,” the Decepticon said. “New look?” 

Prowl didn’t know how Deathsaurus had seen through his hologram, but there was no point in running the projector now. He scowled, but before he switched it off, he made certain his features were fixed in a neutral expression. 

“Deathsaurus,” Prowl said, allowing his voice to carry a tone of icy calm that he didn’t quite feel. He’d forgotten how _big_ the Decepticon warlord was. And how his alt made no pretense at civilized behaviour. “You helped yourself to my wash rack?” he inquired scathingly. 

“I didn’t think you’d like it if your furniture took on the smell of sewer.” 

“So that’s how you got in.” Prowl had been wondering. 

Deathsaurus tilted his head. “The building security isn’t _that_ bad, as I’m sure you’re entirely aware. Ground floor and airborne approaches are firmly locked down.” 

“But the subterranean levels are lacking.” Prowl would have to have something _done_ about that. 

“The designers gambled that anyone with the ability to tunnel in to the underground would either lack the wings to fly above the weight sensors on the floor, or else be too claustrophobic to make the climb up the refuse chute.” 

Which, overall, had been a fairly safe gamble. The chute was too narrow for a helicopter, too steep for a jet, and the number of triple changers who were also drills was very low indeed. But Deathsaurus’s claws had apparently been just as good at digging as they were at climbing up the chute, while his wings had carried him over the sensor-rigged floor. 

Prowl narrowed his optics. “I suppose there aren’t too many mechs of your frame type left.” 

Deathsaurus grinned, refusing to snap at the bait. “I do hope you haven’t pissed off any Dynobots.” 

“I would have guessed Swoop before I guessed you,” Prowl admitted. “The last I heard, you were somewhere on the Outer Rim. Now here you are, making yourself at home in my apartment.” He folded his arms. “Do you _have_ to be in my berth?” 

“I don’t fit on your couch.” 

_You would if you changed shape_ . Prowl bit the retort back. Most beastformers were uncomfortable in their creature forms. Some were ashamed of their own shape, while others avoided it out of consideration for those around them. Deathsaurus flaunted his. Prowl made a note to avoid Deathsaurus’s bait as surely as Deathsaurus had avoided his. 

Instead, Prowl held his silence, waiting for Deathsaurus to speak. 

“You’re a practical mechanism,” the Decepticon said. “Can we skip the tiresome social rituals and get down to business?” 

“Which is?” 

Deathsaurus raised his paw as though holding out his hand. “The coming war.” 

Prowl felt his fuel tanks turn over. “What are you talking about?” 

“We’re not entirely isolated out on the Rim. I’ve heard about New Cybertron joining the Galactic Council. About Bumblebee’s appointment as ambassador.” His beak gaped, baring three rows of razor fangs. “I doubt you believe for a second that New Cybertron joining the Galactic Council has forged any kind of lasting peace.” 

Prowl felt a chill over the nape of his neck. He’d tried so hard to tell Windblade and Bumblebee, but they hadn’t wanted to listen. They’d called him paranoid, reactionary, outdated… 

“Does it matter what I believe? Windblade brokered the deal. Bumblebee took the ambassador’s post.” 

“And you go on scheming in the shadows as you always have.” 

Prowl was silent. 

“It’s not an insult,” Deathsaurus said. “I have no use for niceties that obscure the facts. Windblade and Bumblebee will play their roles, and we will play ours.” 

“Which are?” 

“Looking out for our people.” 

Prowl’s processor couldn’t parse what Deathsaurus was getting at. He needed more information. 

Cybertron had joined the Galactic Council, and now Deathsaurus wanted to… 

_What?_

Because _wage war on New Cybertron_ wasn’t logical. When Prowl said that Deathsaurus didn’t care about Cybertron, he had meant it in _all_ senses of the word. Deathsaurus didn’t give a damn about their welfare, true, but he couldn’t be bothered to try to conquer them, either. They were _nothing_ to him. 

Why was he even _here_? 

“This is all very pleasant,” Prowl said, “but you left Cybertron halfway through the war and never looked back. I don’t believe for a second that you give a damn about either the people of New Cybertron _or_ the survivors of Old Cybertron.” 

Deathsaurus didn’t argue the point. “You’ve got an intelligence file on me. You know who I care about.” 

“Your own crew.” Prowl folded his arms. “The Decepticons who deserted with you during the war.” 

“And the Decepticons who have joined me since. And the aliens who are our allies.” 

“Aliens. Pfft.” Surely the Con was lying. “You cyberformed planets.” 

“When I was obeying Megatron, yes. That was one of the tasks he assigned to my crew.” Deathsaurus cocked his head. “Just as you once directed false flag missions to cast non-Autobots into disrepute. People change. _Goals_ change. Or are you still in the practice of framing your adversaries for atrocities you yourself commit?” 

All spoken mildly and casually, but if Deathsaurus’s words had been bullets, each one would have found its mark. Lately Prowl had found himself wondering if he was going soft in his old age or if he really had gone too far during the war in the name of the greater good. 

“Point taken,” Prowl said grudgingly. “Tactics can change.” 

“And given the dissolution of the Black Block Consortia, my tactics _had_ to change.” 

Prowl raised an optic ridge. “I haven’t heard much about the Black Block Consortia in a few centuries now.” Perhaps he could convince Deathsaurus to educate him. 

“Mmm. The factors that led to the creation of the Consortia remain in play. The Galactic Council—originally an alliance of species who sought safety in numbers from the predations of Cybertronian expansion—was quickly taken over by the greedy and powerful. They sought to extort money and resources from member species in exchange for higher positions on their protection list. Those who couldn’t or wouldn’t pay were judged expendable – and shoved into the Cybertronian line of fire.” 

“You mean the _Decepticon_ line of fire.” 

“My dear Prowl, this policy was in place since the days of Nova Prime, long before anyone had ever heard the word _Decepticon_.” 

Prowl made a note to check on whether that statement was true. In the meantime, he gave Deathsaurus a semi-sincere apology, just to keep him talking. 

Deathsaurus either accepted it at face value, or didn’t care how sincere it was. He continued, “The Black Block Consortia formed as an alternative to the Galactic Council. We now know Pharma—an Autobot, might I add—had some hand in its creation. As did Flame, another Autobot, and Scorponok, admittedly one of ours. It appears their rationale was to tap alien knowledge and materials for their own personal experiments, in exchange for propping up the new alliance with organization, armaments, and financial support. Generally speaking, the member species of the Black Block were smaller in numbers and poorer in wealth than those who remained in the Galactic Council, but there were more species and more worlds in the Black Block Consortia.” 

Now Prowl wished he’d bothered to take the time to understand Rodimus of Nyon’s after action report. He’d skimmed the thing—which had made no sense, not even after Ultra Magnus had edited it _twice_ —and what he’d taken away from it was that Pharma had lost his mind, Scorponok and Flame’s experiments had ripped a hole in the multiverse, and New Cybertron had come through that hole. 

Prowl had been reluctant to look a gift planet in the mouth. The survivors of Unicron needed a new homeworld, and Rodimus’s little misadventure had brought them one. Case closed. 

Or not. Prowl studied Deathsaurus on his berth. Just another historical ghost come back to do some haunting. 

“The masterminds behind the Black Block Consortia are dead, thanks to Rodimus and his crew,” Prowl said. 

“And they left a leadership vacuum in their wake.” 

Prowl thought he understood what Deathsaurus was getting at. “So now the Galactic Council no longer has the Black Block Consortia to keep them in check. You feel it’s only a matter of time before they turn on us.” 

“Feel,” Deathsaurus said scornfully. “I _know_.” 

Prowl hated how much sense the Decepticon was making. He was also certain that Deathsaurus was not just here to register complaints. “So, on the assumption that you are, shall we say, _solution oriented_ , what sort of solution do you have in mind?” 

“I want to propose an alliance against our mutual enemy, the Galactic Council. The group that keeps control over its members by threatening to abandon them to the predations of our species…and at the end of the day, no matter what badge we wear, no matter what planet we inhabit, you and I are the same in the Council’s eyes. What bludgeon do they have against their members if they make peace with New Cybertron? What are they going to ask Windblade and Bumblebee to do to earn and keep a place in their organization?” His beak gaped. “What happens if Windblade and Bumblebee refuse?” 

_The coming war._

Which might be _exactly_ what the Galactic Council wanted. An excuse to turn on the Cybertronians and wipe them out. 

“And where do you come into it?” Prowl asked. 

Deathsaurus flared his wings. “The Galactic Council has never ceased its hostilities against me and mine.” 

_All he cares about is his crew_ . Prowl felt a sensation which, in another mechanism, might be a shiver down his spine. To Prowl, it was merely a number of neurons firing in his intuition cluster. 

“So with your people actively at war against the Council,” Prowl said, “and my people on the verge of being drawn into the very kind of conflict we’re trying to avoid…” 

“We could both benefit from a partnership. Mutual non-aggression to start. Meanwhile, you and I can set up the framework for mutual self-defense once the Council acts against Cybertronian interests. We’ll have the Council in a pincer: New Cybertron at their front, me and mine at their rear, and no escape.” 

“And what about you?” Prowl asked. “What if the Council want to wipe you and yours out before they betray us?” 

Deathsaurus chuckled. “We have an excellent defensive position. They don’t have the technology to come in after us.” 

Prowl noted Deathsaurus’s words. Some of his operatives had reported that Deathsaurus sometimes spoke in riddles, while others said that Deathsaurus spoke truths that were often misunderstood. Either way, the precise phrasing was a clue. 

“Will I be able to come _in_ for a visit?” Prowl asked. 

Deathsaurus’s grin broadened. “I feel it only appropriate to receive a diplomatic entourage.” 

Prowl stroked his chin. “You might be able to pitch to Windblade after all. Where should I tell her I’d like us to visit?” 

“The seat of the Decepticon Empire.” 

Prowl actually choked. “You…you can’t be serious. Your crew might be the largest surviving group still calling itself Decepticons, but you surely can’t believe that one Warworld is an Empire.” 

“One Warworld? And a string of cyberformed planets. And all those species of the Black Block Consortia, looking for someone to take command and stand up to the Galactic Council.” Deathsaurus’s optics glittered, and Prowl knew in a flash of intuition what Deathsaurus had done. “My new member nations.” 

_The aliens who are my allies._

_Me and mine._

Oh, Deathsaurus had built an Empire indeed. 

“And you’re the Emperor,” Prowl said dryly, trying very hard not to sound impressed. 

“I thought you’d have heard that I retired.” 

“The last I heard was that you’d ceded your command to someone named…” Prowl checked a file in his heads up display. “Nickel. After that business with the DJD. But I’m aware that Nickel left your group.” 

“After which time I held elections. Our current leader—the Decepticon Empress—is named Esmeral of Eukaris.” 

Prowl feared he might never understand how Deathsaurus’s mind worked. “So if this Esmeral is your leader, what role are _you_ playing?” 

“It’s largely ceremonial. _Religious_ isn’t entirely accurate. It’s less a matter of faith than a…” For once Deathsaurus didn’t have a ready response. “A degree of respect awarded me for my historical contributions to the Cause, and I suppose, for my strategic vision of the future. It’s Esmeral’s choice how, and to what degree, that vision plays out, but you can rest assured I’m here with her support.” 

“But it was your idea.” 

He shrugged and did not deny it.

“So if Esmeral is the Empress, how should our delegation address you?” 

Deathsaurus winced. “Really, Deathsaurus is fine…” 

Prowl gave his curiosity some leeway. “I’m aware that’s not your real name.” 

“My _real name_ , as you put it, is Project Deszaras Experimental Subject D-336.” 

Prowl was taken aback at the Decepticon’s willingness to outright admit he was an experimental prototype—a thing, not a person. A moment later he chided himself for it. Deathsaurus had no shame in himself. 

So why the reluctance to give his title? 

“And what are your people calling you now?” Prowl prompted. 

Deathsaurus tilted his head. “If we’re going to go with what people have taken to calling me, I much prefer Deathsaurus over _Invictus Prime_ .” 

**Author's Note:**

> Easter Egg: Deathsaurus is referring obliquely to his Dark Nebula Fortress from VICTORY.


End file.
